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I know he bears a most religious reverence
To his dead master Edward's royal memory,
And whither that may lead him is most plain.
Yet more-One of that stubborn sort he is,
Who, if they once grow fond of an opinion,
They call it honour, honesty, and faith,
And sooner part with life than let it go.

Glost. And yet this tough impracticable heart, Is govern'd by a dainty-finger'd girl;

Such flaws are found in the most worthy natures;
A laughing, toying, wheedling, whimpering she
Shall make him amble on a gossip's message,
And take the distaff with a hand as patient
As e'er did Hercules.

Rat. The fair Alicia,

Of noble birth and exquisite of feature,
Has held him long a vassal to her beauty.

Cat. I fear, he fails in his allegiance there;
Or my intelligence is false, or else

The dame has been too lavish of her feast,
And fed him till he loathes.

Glost. No more, he comes.

Enter Lord HASTINGS.

Hast. Health, and the happiness of many days, Attend upon your grace.

Glost. My good lord chamberlain,

We're much beholden to your gentle friendship.

Hast. My lord, I come an humble suitor to you,

Glost. In right good time. Speak out your plea

sure freely.

Hast. I am to move your highness in behalf

Of Shore's unhappy wife.

Glost. Say you, of Shore?

Hast. Once a bright star, that held her place on high:

The first and fairest of our English dames,
While royal Edward held the sovʼreign rule.
Now sunk in grief, and pining with despair,
Her waining form no longer shall incite
Envy in woman, or desire in man.

She never sees the sun, but thro' her tears,

And wakes to sigh the live-long night away.

Glost. Marry! the times are badly chang'd with

her,

From Edward's days to these. Then all was jollity,
Feasting and mirth, light wantonness and laughter,
Piping and playing, minstrelsy and masquing;
'Till life fled from us like an idle dream,
A shew of mommery without a meaning.
My brother, rest and pardon to his soul,
Is gone to his account; for this his minion,
The revel rout is done-But you were speaking
Concerning her I have been told, that

Are frequent in your visitation to her.

you

Hast. No farther, my good lord, than friendly pity, And tender-hearted charity allow.

Glost. Go to; I did not mean to chide you for it.

For, sooth to say, I hold it noble in you

To cherish the distress'd

On with your tale.

Hast. Thus it is, gracious sir, that certain officers,
Using the warrant of your mighty name,
With insolence unjust, and lawless power,
Have seiz'd upon the lands which late she held
By grant, from her great master Edward's bounty.
Glost. Somewhat of this, but slightly, have I heard;
And tho' some counsellors of forward zeal,
Some of most ceremonious sanctity,

And bearded wisdom, often have provok'd
The hand of justice to fall heavy on her;
Yet still, in kind compassion of her weakness,
And tender memory of Edward's love,

I have withheld the merciless stern law

From doing outrage on her helpless beauty.

Hast. Good Heav'n, who renders mercy back for

mercy,

With open-handed bounty shall repay you :
This gentle deed shall fairly be set foremost,
To screen the wild escapes of lawless passion,
And the long train of frailties flesh is heir to.

Glost. Thus far, the voice of pity pleaded only:
Our farther and more full extent of grace
Is given to your request. Let her attend,
And to ourself deliver up her griefs.

She shall be heard with patience, and each wrong
At full redress'd. But I have other news,

Which much import us both; for still my fortunes
Go hand in hand with yours: our common foes,

C

The queen's relations, our new-fangled gentry,
Have fall'n their haughty crests-That for your pri-

vacy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in JANE SHORE's House. Enter BELMOUR and DUMONT.

Bel. How she has liv'd you have heard my tale already,

The rest your own attendance in her family,
Where I have found the means this day to place you,
And nearer observation, best will tell you.
See, with what sad and sober cheer she comes.

Enter JANE SHORE.

Sure, or I read her visage much amiss,

Or grief besets her hard. Save you, fair lady,
The blessings of the cheerful morn be on you,
And greet your beauty with its opening sweets.

J. Sh. My gentle neighbour, your good wishes still
Pursue my hapless fortunes! Ah, good Belmour!
How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out,
And court the offices of soft humanity?
Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked,
Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan,
Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep?
Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine,
To speak and bless thy name. Is this the gentleman,

2

Whose friendly service you commended to me?

Bel. Madam, it is.

J. Sh. A venerable aspect.

Age sits with decent grace upon

[Aside.

his visage,

And worthily becomes his silver locks;
He wears the marks of many years well spent,
Of virtue, truth well try'd, and wise experience;
A friend like this would suit my sorrows well.
Fortune, I fear me, sir, has meant you ill, [To Dum.
Who pays your merit with that scanty pittance
Which my poor hand and humble roof can give.
But to supply these golden vantages,

Which elsewhere you might find, expect to meet
A just regard and value for your worth,

The welcome of a friend, and the free partnership
Of all that little good the world allows me.

Dum. You over-rate me much; and all my answer Must be my future truth; let them speak for me, And make up my deserving.

J. Sh. Are you of England?

Dum. No, gracious lady, Flanders claims my birth; At Antwerp has my constant biding been, Where sometimes I have known more plenteous days Than these which now my failing age affords.

J. Sh. Alas! at Antwerp, !-Oh, forgive my tears!

They fall for my offences—and must fall

[Weeping.

Long, long ere they shall wash my stains away.
You knew perhaps-Oh grief! oh shame!—my hus-

band.

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